


you can set yourself on fire (you're never gonna burn)

by orphan_account



Series: fifty words for murder (and i'm every one of them) [3]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: I fucked up, M/M, serial killer au is back and better than ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one, two, three hundred. not a bad payout, josh will admit; three hundred dollars is good enough for him.</p><p> <i>if crazy equals genius<br/>then i'm a fucking arsonist<br/>i'm a rocket scientist</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	you can set yourself on fire (you're never gonna burn)

**Author's Note:**

> seven pages and 4.9k words of the most disgusting thing i have Ever Written  
> there's so much bloodplay and bdsm in this it's not even funny  
> also i hate myself
> 
> there's too much to trigger warning here  
> im jsut. be careful bye

one, two, three hundred. not a bad payout, josh will admit; three hundred dollars is good enough for him. he’s gonna splurge, make himself look really pretty, and maybe tyler will only have eyes for him for the night.

he taps the wallet against his knife-edge of a hipbone, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom as tyler collects the belongings to be burnt. he’s gripping another trash bag in one hand, shoveling their clothes in with the other; it’s one of the last bags they have. josh checked twice. they’ll have to go shopping soon. don’t want to be caught unprepared, especially if tyler decides to come home with a surprise house guest.

clothes, towels, and of course, rosie’s fingerprints. his least favorite pair that he’s ever seen; maybe he imagines tyler’s gaze lingering on the stack of skin for longer than entirely necessary, but jealousy burns red-hot in the pit of his stomach again; he finally throws the fingerprints into the trash bag, and his jealousy quells some. it’s fine, for right now. soon, rosie’ll be erased from their memories.

except for her teeth, blood-stained at the roots, littered carelessly over the bottom of the tub.

tyler always keeps the teeth.

josh can’t find his fucking stash. he wants to destroy every single last one of the teeth that tyler has kept. he searches and he searches and he searches (the entire house, every last square inch), but he can’t ever find it.

he _knows_ that tyler moves it from time to time, just to fuck with his head.

that’s what the clinking of the teeth in the mason jars at three in the morning when josh is supposed to be asleep is. he’s debated creeping out of bed to follow him and find where he puts them next so he can smother every last bit of evidence that tyler had his hands on someone _other_ than josh, but he knows better than that.

tyler’s not against pulling his saw on him. he’s done it before and he’ll do it again without the slightest hint of hesitation. it’s the only thing that keeps josh in line. he knows that he was supposed to be one of tyler’s earliest victims, and he prides himself on the fact that he was able to worm his way into his life and stay at his side. it’s where he _belongs_. it’s his place, at the top of the throne, his king by his side.

he absently traces his fingers over a scar on his hipbone where tyler had cut him up _real_ deep and stitched his flesh back together. one of the best fucks he’s ever had, in his own humble opinion; he fishes the three hundred out of rosie’s wallet, lays the bills on the counter, and holds it out to tyler.

it’s the last object to go into the bag. tyler ties it shut, hoisting it over his shoulder with a slight grunt; their night of fun is slowly coming to a close. it’ll be a little while before they get to go out again.

they’ll have to preoccupy themselves with each other.

outside, the moon hangs high in the sky; it’s nearly full, bright and casting it’s glow over the grass as josh tiptoes behind tyler, admiring the way his back looks under the moonlight. he tosses the bag into their makeshift fire pit in the middle of the backyard, and it emanates a single, dull thud as it hits the lower level; there’s a charred circle from their previous outings scorched up the sides, singed pieces of blackened grass poking out over the top.

the bonfires are josh’s favorite. he walks around the burned edges of the grass, just starting to grow back in, brushing over the line with his toes and giggling softly, liltingly.

“what the fuck are you laughing about?” tyler asks suddenly, and josh jolts in shock, backpedaling away from the circle with wide, fearful eyes as he approaches from the darkness, something clenched in his hand. josh panics, thinks for a second he has his saw and he’s about to be nothing but a decimated body in the woods in less than half an hour. he and rosie can rot in hell together. “huh, joshie? what’s so funny?”

“nothin’,” josh pouts, heart pounding in his ears. he’s still backing away, slowly; he’s faster than tyler. maybe he has a chance to break for it –

tyler moves out from the shadows and josh’s gaze hesitantly drags down to his hand.

not the saw. just a half-full canister of gasoline. tyler’s smirking, knows exactly where his train of thought had immediately derailed to. he loves the power he has over josh’s stupid, foolish mind. “move or i’ll set you on fire. want me to set you on fire, josh, hm?”

josh sniffs disdainfully, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to move further away. he watches as tyler pours the rest of the canister over the bag in even strokes, dousing it entirely; he throws the empty container somewhere behind him, busies himself with fishing around in the back pocket of the jeans he’d slipped on before they’d left to dump rosie’s body in the woods.

he pulls out an old box of matches.

he strikes one and drops it into the pit, and the entire thing erupts into orange flames.

josh can’t help but let out a little cheer, wriggling his hips a little in excitement. he can feel tyler’s cruel, hardened gaze boring holes into the side of his face, but he’s _excited_ ; he loves bonfire nights, loves the heat warming his body, loves when he outstretches his cold, skeletal fingers in front of him and the sunset-colored fire warms his calloused palms.

the bag singes, sizzles, blackened and crimson sparks spitting up into the air with venom; he slides his thumbs underneath the hem of his panties and shimmies out of them with a sigh of dejection. they’re _such_ a nice pair, and tyler didn’t even touch him in them. what a waste of good lingerie.

he throws them into the pit, crossing his arms over his chest resignedly. they can’t leave any evidence behind. it’s too risky.

“ah, joshie, you’re _such_ a slut,” tyler calls, moving over to him once he realizes he’s standing stark naked in the middle of their own backyard; his dark eyes trail up and down his quivering frame repeatedly, sizing him up, like always. “would you let just anyone see you like that, or just me?”

“fuck you, tyler.” josh turns away from him when he tries to reach out a hand to caress his shoulder, stepping closer to the fire and peering into the mixes of flames, the colors of scorching reds and burnt oranges. he wonders what it’s like to burn alive. he kind of wants to find out. the flames are warm on his skin as he edges closer –

tyler’s fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him back from the edge of the pit, harsh and fast; he winds a hand around josh’s lower back, pressing him flush up against his bare chest. “watch your tone with me,” he murmurs, tone short and decisive; josh swallows, tilting his chin up and raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow in defiance. “who do you _think_ you’re talking to?”

“i don’t fucking know,” josh spits, eyes narrowing into slits, but he doesn’t try to move away. he’s just trying to get what he wants, and being bratty is the quickest way to it. he wants tyler to be rough with him tonight, remind him where he belongs, put him back in his place. “who do _you_ think you’re talking to, tyler?”

“i think i’m talking to the bitch i own,” tyler snarls in return, and he’s got a definitive point that he can’t even begin to argue against. every inch of josh’s body belongs to tyler and he knows it oh so well. “you better start behaving or you’re gonna _know_ what it’s like to get your body sawed apart.”

josh grins wickedly, all sharp, bright teeth in the light of the fire and the glow of the moon. “oh, _fuck_ you,” he hisses between clenched teeth, twisting out of tyler’s grasp with practiced ease to stalk across the lawn; tyler was holding him loosely, giving him the option to actually cooperate for once in his pathetic life, but he should know better by now that josh never learns his lessons.

he’s foolish enough to believe that maybe, he’s gotten away with it, for once in the entirety of his life that he’s spent locked under tyler’s watchful, hawk-like eye. he’s such a daft, vacuous little boy, and he likes to think that sometimes, he might be able to twist the will of who owns him.

it never goes down smoothly. he has the multitudes of scars to prove it. he never fucking wins, but he likes it when tyler’s aggressive, likes it when tyler makes him his. he _has_ to be put in his place.

he makes it inside, moving down the hall toward their adjoining bedroom to pull on a new pair of panties and jerk himself off under satin sheets because tyler definitely won’t be fucking him tonight.

he’s never been so wrong in his life.

he does make it as far as their bedroom, but tyler’s right on his heels, wrapping a hand around the base of his neck and jerking him backwards, slamming him hard up against the wall. it knocks all of the breath out of his lungs and he chokes, dazed, vision spinning as his palm slides from the back of his neck to the front of his throat; tyler’s tiger-toothed grin snaps near his ear, grazes the lobe with his teeth and yanks down on it _hard_ , leaving josh to cry out in sudden pain.

“oh, you’re _so_ fucking stupid, joshie,” tyler purrs, nuzzling his nose against the side of his cheek. “think you can get away with talking to me like that? when has that _ever_ worked? i think we need to open up some old wounds. what do you say?”

josh simply supplies a feeble gasp, still trying to catch his breath; his spine throbs from where he was shoved against the wall, telltale signs of beginning bruises forming up and down his pale skin. he likes it rough. he wants it rougher, wants tyler to give him his all. he’s been aching for it for weeks on end.

“do your worst,” josh grits out between clenched teeth, and tyler’s grin only grows sharper.

a flash of silver to the right of josh’s peripheral vision; every bone in his body locks up in panic. he always conveniently fucking forgets that tyler carries a pocket knife on him at all times.

he’s so practiced, so quick with it; it’s pressed up against josh’s throat before he can even breathe, sharpened edge already digging a fine line into his tender flesh. it stings so good, so delicious, sharp jolts of pain coursing down through his veins; he goes up on his tiptoes, feels the knife part his skin and he _whines_ , high and needy. it’s the sort of pain that goes straight to his cock, but he knows that he can’t touch himself right now, not unless he wants to sport a joker-like grin from ear to ear. tyler’s not against the idea.

“stupid boy,” tyler murmurs gently, clicking his tongue and retracting the knife. he presses it up against josh’s adam’s apple, watches it bob in the reflection of the silver when he swallows for a second before drawing in another line. it’s deeper and it’s so painful, so good, that josh’s vision clouds with white and he forgets how to breathe. he wants _more_. “getting off on a tiny knife on your throat. you’re pathetic.”

josh groans, head swimming with the sudden rush; he feels light on his feet, like he’s floating, all of the sudden, only tethered to the ground by tyler’s hand wrapped on his throat and his knife pressed against his flesh.

“now, joshie,” tyler sighs, tipping josh’s chin up with his free hand and pulling the knife back enough to suck at the blood trailing down his throat, pooling over his collarbone. “who do you belong to?”

josh shivers as tyler’s tongue prods the fresh cuts, licking and sucking and nipping. “you,” he whispers shakily, knees buckling under the pressure of being forced to stand still when he’s so suddenly, achingly hard.

“that’s right,” tyler murmurs, and his voice drips with faux pride. josh knows there’s not an inch of pride in his body directed at him; he’s nothing but a fuck toy to him. “so stop pulling dumb fucking stunts like this or i’m going to _gut_ you. got it?”

“got it,” josh shakily whimpers as teeth rake over the cut over his adam’s apple, pulling apart the skin with sharp incisors; blood pours freely from the wound and josh’s vision swims dazedly as tyler laps at the mess.

when he pulls away, tyler’s lips are sticky with crimson blood, and josh wants nothing more than to part his mouth with his tongue and suck the blood out (he knows better than that, tyler’s got specific rules set against kissing). “good boy,” he breathes, licks up the outline of the cut once more. “go get on the bed. hands and knees.”

he steps away from josh’s quivering frame, and his knees almost give out from underneath him; he stumbles further into the darkness, collapsing on top of their bed in the position ordered. every bit of him, from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes, is shaking as the bed dips underneath the addition of tyler’s weight.

he kneels behind josh, the click of the pocket knife being shut echoing through the still air; tyler tosses it onto the bed, moving to grip josh’s hips and drag him down against him, rutting up against the curve of his ass.

he’s naked, and it’s beyond surprising considering he was wearing jeans just five seconds ago; he forgets how quick tyler is at undressing himself (and other people). he swears underneath his breath, pressing his face into the satin sheets and trying to calm himself down; every single one of his nerves is set aflame, his muscles twitching underneath his skin. “what are we using tonight, joshie?” tyler breathes, and his mouth is so _close_ to josh’s lower back, hot breath fanning over his skin. “what do you think you deserve?”

“ _ah_ –“ josh begins, but gets nothing else out except for a high-pitched squeak as the palm of tyler’s hand suddenly connects against the bare skin of his ass.

“how’s about a lashing, hm?” tyler purrs rhetorically, rhythmically kneading the soft flesh of his ass before smacking him again, watching his white skin bloom with color. “it’s been a while since you’ve had one. think you need it.”

“tyler, please –“

“josh, shut the fuck up, for christ’s _sake_ ,” tyler groans, rutting up against the curve of his ass. he leans over his body, pinning his hips down with one hand into the mattress and groping blindly for the nightstand drawer. he fumbles for a moment, before his hand slides around the handle of something; he pulls it out, and it’s exactly what he needs.

it’s his favorite. his black snake, fitting right into the hold of his palm, and it makes josh _scream_. perfection. he hasn’t touched it in so long.

he caresses josh’s skin with the tail end, watches all of the visible muscles in his back tighten up in fear. he brings it down once, shattering the air with a loud crack, coupled by josh’s quaking scream as it lashes against his back, drawing up a thin welt over his skin.

then, as an afterthought, he spits into the palm of his hand and strokes it up and down his cock, slowly lubing himself up. “i’m gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, spreading josh’s ass with the handle of the whip and caressing it slowly over his entrance. “but i’m not gonna stretch you.”

“tyler, _stop_ ,” josh pants indignantly, doing his best to wiggle out of tyler’s grasp on his hip; tyler laughs, bringing the whip down against his ass. he immediately stops moving, going rigidly still and biting back a scream.

“stop? _no_ , joshie, you’ve been a bad boy,” tyler hums, yanking josh’s hips up and lining his cock up to his entrance. he shoves in without warning, burying himself up to the hilt in one swift movement, and josh shrieks so loud it hurts both of their ears; it’s so painful, hurts so _bad_ but aches so _good –_ it spreads through his veins in a delicious, mind-numbing fire, and he melts against the mattress, drooling and panting deliriously. “when are you gonna learn your lesson, bitch? who do you _belong_ to?”

“oh, fuck, fuck, _god_ , fuck –“ josh babbles, spit dripping down his chin as tyler pounds into him relentlessly.

“i asked you a fucking question, josh, you better start answering,” tyler growls, anchoring a hand against the small of his back and thrusting into him at a different angle until the tip of his cock drags against his prostate.

white hot fire burns through josh’s bones, and his mind blanks; he murmurs incoherently, but it isn’t good enough, and tyler’s not satisfied at the lack of response. he brings the whip down twice in quick succession on the same spot, watches blood well up prettily over his paling skin. “tell me, joshie, who do you _belong_ to?”

“you, you, you,” josh gasps out, finally, and tyler laughs sadistically, cracking the whip at his shoulder three times in a row, striking at a different spot each time; it’s too much, too much, and he cries out, pain transfixing his body into a deranged, writhing mess, reduced to nothing more than a pile of liquid underneath tyler slamming his cock into him and striking his whip down against his back at random intervals.

there’s no way to tell when it’s coming aside from the cracking sound that ripples through the air; it lands across his back, slices his skin open and blood pours freely from his new wounds and he screams, coming unhinged at the seams.

he’s so close to coming, so close so close _so close_ –

“harder,” he manages to choke out, right as tyler brings the whip down against a cut that’s already laced into his skin, losing the rest of his sentence to a choked, gurgling moan.

tyler thrusts in carelessly before he’s shouting out josh’s name amidst a string of curses, hips stilling where they’re pressed flush up against josh’s. his back is a mess of cuts and bruises and blood, smeared all down his skin; no area is left unstained by the ruby streams slowly leaking down his back.

he might have gone overboard. josh is crying, gasping, entire body twitching in pain; tyler drags himself out and tosses his whip over his shoulder, listens to it smack against the floor, and josh jumps, yelping as his muscles tighten involuntarily.

he hasn’t come yet. he’s not going to, not until he decides to be a good boy and figure out just where he belongs. he leans over and sifts through the drawer, finding the cock ring before settling back between josh’s hips; he yanks them up and reaches around his waist, josh groaning in aching protest, ultimately powerless to stop him out of the sheer amount of agony he’s in at the moment.

tyler grasps the base of his cock and josh lets out a loud, high peal of gasping moans; something cold and metal touches the tip, and he cries out indignantly at the shock, trying to twist away from tyler’s grip on his waist. “ _no_ ,” he groans, babbling incoherently and suddenly energized out of panic, thrashing a little more wildly. “tyler, don’t put that on me –“

“josh, shut the _fuck_ up,” tyler interrupts, growling as he shoves his face roughly down against the mattress to silence his pathetic begging; he squeezes the hand around his cock harder and finally succeeds in pushing the cock ring down the rest of the way, tightening it around the base.

“take it off, take it off,” josh babbles, helplessly rolling his hips into the mattress and sobbing, tears pooling underneath his eyes. “i can’t take it, can’t take it –“

“look, you _cunt_ ,” tyler spits, raking his blunt nails down the whip marks etched into his raw, bleeding skin; josh cries out in anguished torment, writhing against the bed. “shit would be a lot easier if you’d just fucking hold _still_.”

he smacks josh’s ass once for good measure, right on one of the welts risen up into his skin, laughing when he groans weakly in protest.

“put some clothes on or something, we’ve got a job to finish,” he grumbles as he rolls off the bed and moves over to the dresser, sifting through his for a pair of boxers. then, he adds as an afterthought as he steps into them and begins sliding them up his thighs, “don’t touch yourself.”

“as if i’d fucking try,” josh hisses, still laying limply in the middle of the bed; his skin pulsates and his muscles twitch in agony. blood pools underneath his waist, runs down his back in rivers of crimson, staining the sheets and his pale, flushed skin. his vision swims lazily, blurring together his surroundings; he can barely tell the difference between up and down. he aches everywhere and the blood continues to pour from his open wounds. “you almost killed me.”

“you’re just asking for more,” tyler bites, agitated; josh just continues to annoy him by not getting up. “do you _want_ me to kill you?”

no response. josh makes a weird, low sort of groan as he shuffles around; the movement just sends more blood cascading down his back in waves that look nearly black in the darkness of the room. he might’ve gone a little overboard, this time, with the whipping; he’ll have to remember to constrain himself the next time around. he spent way too long warping josh into the creature he is now. he doesn’t want to have to do it again if he snaps and _does_ end up killing him.

“josh,” he tries again, eyes narrowing into slits. he’s not moving, doesn’t look like he’s even breathing.

then, his head turns slightly to the right to show he’s listening; tyler releases a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. getting rid of two bodies in one night would be hell. “fuck off, tyler,” josh groans shakily, gasps as his shoulders roll when he tries to resituate himself, reopening the cut over his adam’s apple. his next word comes out in a raspy, low gurgle. “ _fuck_.” he clears his throat, letting himself melt against the mattress. he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. tyler can clean without him. “if you’re not gonna help, get the fuck away from me.”

“pathetic,” tyler sneers. he should get the whip back out and slice him up again until he can’t talk. maybe he’ll cut out his tongue. disrespectful brat.

still, he pads down the hallway and into the bathroom; the heady scent of blood hits his nostrils, and he crouches, pulling open the cupboard under the sink. he pushes past a half-emptied bottle of bleach, grabbing the first-aid kit from the back; his gaze travels down to his feet.

the tile is coated in blood. it’s almost completely dried in the shape of tyler’s footprints from walking back and forth through it; he smudges it with his finger. it’s going to be a long night without josh’s help. he forgets that sometimes, the bitch can be useful for something.

if only he’d just keep his trap shut.

he wonders how well he’d handle having his mouth sewn shut. he smiles softly at the idea; a good anesthetic would be helpful, if he had some lying around. josh would be fun to practice new technique on. he’s _such_ a squealer.

first-aid kit in hand, he stands back up, popping open the medicine cabinet; he pushes their toothbrushes out of the way, reaching for the black bottle of rubbing alcohol. he’s going to scream like a stuck pig.

items in hand, he moves back down to the hall; josh hasn’t moved, and it’d be concerning if it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of his back as he breathes. his cuts are still pouring blood, and there’s no part of skin on his back that isn’t stained with the sticky mixture of sweat and blood; some of the wounds are deep enough that they’ll require stitches, and tyler isn’t exactly well within practice range.

he’s gonna be making a lot of noise, and it’s not exactly the type of noise tyler likes. he’s lucky they live far off enough from everyone else that josh can be as loud as he needs to be. gags are useless on him, he’s just that loud.

tyler would try to enjoy it, but they’re on a time crunch. the bathroom, stairwell, and basement still need to be cleaned and it’s likely that he’ll be doing it all by himself; he either needs to learn some self-control, or josh needed to learn who he belonged to all over again.

preferably, both. he kneels on the bed between josh’s spread knees, listens to him groan as he’s shifted around; tyler doesn’t bother with any apologies, knows he’ll have better ways to take care of him later that don’t involve rubbing alcohol and needles.

josh used to be so squeamish about needles. he used to be so squeamish about a lot of things before tyler had brought him home; he snorts a little at the thought of it, popping the top on the first-aid box and laying it down next to josh’s hip.

there’s a spare pair of gloves packed into the bottom; he makes a mental note to replace them at a later date, sliding them onto his hands before grabbing the stack of gauze pads and the bottle of disinfectant. there’s no use letting his boy toy get an infection. there’s a reason they can’t go to the hospital, after all.

“right,” tyler huffs, uncapping the bottle of rubbing alcohol and coating one of the gauze pads. “try and keep it down.”

josh grunts softly in return; even though his face is pressed flat to the mattress, tyler can imagine him rolling his eyes.

he feels like maybe he should warn him about the upcoming stinging and burning, especially with how deep some of the whip marks had lashed through his skin, but he figures that they’ve had that speech enough for him to be able to forego it. he presses the gauze pad to the first cut, and josh moans lowly in agony, entire body twitching as he shies away from the pain, pushing himself down against the mattress.

little more gentle, then. he keeps his touch feather light and continues to wipe away the blood from his back, ignoring the pitiful whining noises josh keeps making, muscles jumping in response to the sudden pain; not long before the pain dulls into white noise. it only gets worse when he begins his suturing.

but josh looks so, _so_ good with stitches in his back. tyler likes to rip them out by the time he’s well enough, when they’re fucking rough and fast and josh can finally handle the pain; the weeks between are long and drawn out and tyler has to physically restrain himself from jumping him and pulling them out with his teeth.

in the end, it leads to worse things, because tyler’s hands are filthy most of the time and josh gets an infection of some sorts more often than not. sometimes, they’re lucky, but most of the time, tyler pays for it with josh’s endless bouts of complaining about how it hurts. he always promises that he can make it hurt even worse if he doesn’t shut the fuck up.

oh, he really wants to sew his mouth shut. he’d be so much prettier if he couldn’t talk. he would’ve cut his tongue out by now so he’d be _quiet_ , but it works wonders when his lips are stretched around his cock.

he finishes cleaning up the cuts, gazes over his handiwork with a foreign sense of pride; his toy takes his punishments so well. it’ll be a while before he begins acting up again.

he wipes his gloved hands off on the sheets, discards the bloodied, used gauze pads on the ground. he’ll clean the bedroom up later and they can have another bonfire later to get rid of the sheets. they’re too matted and soaked with blood for him to be able to clean them out now. he’ll just have to buy more sheets later, and they can fuck those up, too.

“this is my favorite part,” tyler sighs as he pulls the suturing needles out from their place in the kit, followed up by the surgical stitching.

“oh, i bet,” josh whispers emptily, voice hoarse from all the noise he’d been making out of agony. he feels like his throat has been clawed into repeatedly and he just hopes it gives out on him soon. “get it over with.”

tyler doesn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up. instead, he threads his needle with practiced ease and sets about fixing up his toy.


End file.
